buddha daily wisdom image

thig.14.1 Therigatha

Subha Jivakambavanika: Subha and the Libertine

As Subha the nun was going through Jivaka's delightful mango grove, a libertine (a goldsmith's son) blocked her path, so she said to him:

"What wrong have I done you
that you stand in my way?
It's not proper, my friend,
that a man should touch
a woman gone forth.

I respect the Master's message,
the training pointed out by the one well-gone.
I am pure, without blemish:
Why do you stand in my way?

You — your mind agitated,
I — unagitated;
You — impassioned,
I — unimpassioned, unblemished,
with a mind everywhere released:
Why do you stand in my way?"

"You are young & not bad-looking,
what need do you have for going forth?
Throw off your ochre robe —
Come, let's delight in the flowering forest.

A sweetness they exude from all around,
the towering trees with their pollen.
The beginning of spring is a pleasant season —
Come, let's delight in the flowering forest.

The trees with their blossoming tips
moan, as it were, in the breeze:
What delight will you have
if you plunge into the forest alone?

Frequented by herds of wild beasts,
disturbed by elephants rutting & aroused:
you want to go
unaccompanied
into the great, lonely, frightening forest?

Like a doll made of gold, you will go about,
like a goddess in the gardens of heaven.
With delicate, smooth Kasi fabrics,
you will shine, O beauty without compare.

I would be under your power
if we were to dwell in the wood.
For there is no creature dearer to me
than you,
O nymph with the languid regard.

If you do as I ask, happy, come live in my house.
Dwelling in the calm of a palace,
have women wait on you,

wear delicate Kasi fabrics,
adorn yourself with garlands & creams.
I will make you many & varied ornaments
of gold, jewels, & pearls.

Climb onto a costly bed,
scented with sandalwood carvings,
with a well-washed coverlet, beautiful,
spread with a woolen quilt, brand new.

Like a blue lotus rising from the water,
where there dwell non-human spirits,
you will go to old age with your limbs unseen,
if you stay as you are in the holy life."

"What do you assume of any essence,
here in this cemetery grower, filled with corpses,
this body destined to break up?
What do you see when you look at me,
you who are out of your mind?"

"Your eyes
are like those of a fawn,
like those of a nymph in the mountains.
Seeing your eyes, my sensual delight
grows all the more.

Like tips they are, of blue lotuses,
in your golden face
— spotless:
Seeing your eyes, my sensual delight
grows all the more.

Even if you should go far away,
I will think only of your pure,
long-lashed gaze,
for there is nothing dearer to me
than your eyes,
O nymph with the languid regard."

"You want to stray from the road,
you want the moon as a plaything,
you want to jump over Mount Sineru,
you who have designs on one born of the Buddha.

For there is nothing anywhere at all
in the world with its devas,
that would be an object of passion for me.
I don't even know what that passion would be,
for it's been killed, root & all, by the path.

Like embers from a pit — scattered,
like a bowl of poison — evaporated,
I don't even see what that passion would be,
for it's been killed, root & all, by the path.

YTry to seduce one who hasn't reflected on this,
or who the Master hasn't instructed.
But try it with this one who knows
and you do yourself violence.

For whether insulted or worshiped,
in pleasure or pain,
my mindfulness stands firm.
Knowing the unattractiveness
of fabricated things,
my heart adheres nowhere at all.

I am a follower of the one well-gone,
riding the vehicle of the eightfold way:
My arrow removed, effluent-free,
I delight, having gone to an empty dwelling.

For I have seen well-painted puppets,
hitched up with sticks & strings,
made to dance in various ways.

When the sticks & strings are removed,
thrown away, scattered, shredded,
smashed into pieces, not to be found,
in what will the mind there make its home?

This body of mine, which is just like that,
when devoid of dhammas doesn't function.
When, devoid of dhammas, it doesn't function,
in what will the mind there make its home?

Like a mural you've seen, painted on a wall,
smeared with yellow orpiment,
there your vision has been distorted,
meaningless your perception of a human being.

Like an evaporated mirage,
like a tree of gold in a dream,
like a magic show in the midst of a crowd —
you run blind after what is unreal.

Resembling a ball of sealing wax,
set in a hollow,
with a bubble in the middle
& bathed with tears,
eye secretions are born there too:
The parts of the eye
are rolled all together
in various ways."

Plucking out her lovely eye,
with mind unattached
she felt no regret.
"Here, take this eye. It's yours."
Straightaway she gave it to him.

Straightaway his passion faded right there,
and he begged her forgiveness.
"Be safe, follower of the holy life.
This sort of thing
won't happen again.

Harming a person like you
is like embracing a blazing fire,
It's as if I have seized a poisonous snake.
So may you be safe. Forgive me."

And freed from there, the nun
went to the excellent Buddha's presence.
When she saw the mark of his excellent merit,
her eye became
as it was before.

- Translator: Thanissaro Bhikkhu

- Editor: Ayya Kathrin Vimalañāṇī


Subhā of Jīvaka’s Mango Grove

Going to the lovely mango grove
of Jīvaka, the nun Subhā
was held up by a rascal.
Subhā said this to him:
“What harm have I done to you,
that you stand in my way?
Sir, it’s not proper that a man
should touch a woman gone forth.
This training was taught by the Holy One,
it is a serious matter in my teacher’s instructions.
I am pure and rid of blemishes,
so why do you stand in my way?
One whose mind is sullied against one unsullied;
one who is lustful against one free of lust;
unblemished, my heart is freed in every respect,
so why do you stand in my way?”
“You’re young and flawless—
what will going-forth do for you?
Throw away the ocher robe,
come and play in the blossom grove.
Everywhere, the scent of pollen wafts sweet,
born of the flowering woods.
The start of spring is a happy time—
come and play in the blossom grove.
And trees crested with flowers
cry out, as it were, in the breeze.
But what kind of fun will you have
if you plunge into the woods all alone?
Frequented by packs of predators,
and she-elephants aroused by rutting bulls;
you wish to go without a friend
to the deserted, awe-inspiring forest.
Like a shining doll of gold,
like a nymph wandering in a park of colorful vines,
your matchless beauty will shine
in graceful clothes of exquisite muslin.
I’ll be under your sway,
if we are to stay in the forest.
I love no creature more than you,
O pixie with such bashful eyes.
Were you to take up my invitation—
‘Come, be happy, and live in a house’—
you’ll stay in a longhouse sheltered from wind;
let the ladies look to your needs.
Dressed in exquisite muslin,
put on your garlands and your cosmetics.
I’ll make all sorts of adornments for you,
of gold and gems and pearls.
Climb onto a costly bed,
its coverlet so clean and nice,
with a new woolen mattress,
so fragrant, sprinkled with sandalwood.
As a blue lily risen from the water
remains untouched by men,
so too, O chaste and holy lady,
your limbs grow old unshared.”
“This carcass is full of putrefaction, it swells
the charnel ground, for its nature is to fall apart.
What do you think is so essential in it
that you stare at me so crazily?”
“Your eyes are like those of a doe,
or a pixie in the mountains;
seeing them,
my sensual desire grows all the more.
Set in your flawless face of golden sheen,
your eyes compare to a blue lily’s bud;
seeing them,
my sensual excitement grows all the more.
Though you may wander far, I’ll still think of you,
with your lashes so long, and your vision so clear.
I love no eyes more than yours,
O pixie with such bashful eyes.”
“You’re setting out on the wrong road!
You’re looking to take the moon for your toy!
You’re trying to leap over Mount Meru!
You, who are hunting a child of the Buddha!
For in this world with all its gods,
there will be no more lust anywhere in me.
I don’t even know what kind it could be,
it’s been smashed root and all by the path.
Cast out like sparks from fiery coals,
it’s worth no more than a bowl of poison.
I don’t even see what kind it could be,
it’s been smashed root and all by the path.
Well may you try to seduce the type of lady
who has not reflected on these things,
or who has never attended the Teacher:
but <em>this</em> is a lady who knows—now you’re in trouble!
No matter if I am reviled or praised,
or feel pleasure or pain: I stay mindful.
Knowing that conditions are ugly,
my mind clings to nothing.
I am a disciple of the Holy One,
riding in the carriage of the eightfold path.
The dart pulled out, free of defilements,
I’m happy to have reached an empty place.
I’ve seen brightly painted
dolls and wooden puppets,
tied to sticks and strings,
and made to dance in many ways.
But when the sticks and strings are taken off—
loosed, disassembled, dismantled,
irrecoverable, stripped to parts—
on what could the mind be fixed?
That’s what my body is really like,
without those things it can’t go on.
This being so,
on what could the mind be fixed?
It’s like when you see a mural on a wall,
painted with orpiment,
and your vision gets confused,
falsely perceiving that it is a person.
Though it’s as worthless as a magic trick,
or a golden tree seen in a dream,
you blindly chase what is hollow,
like a puppet show among the people.
An eye is just a ball in a socket,
with a pupil in the middle, and tears,
and mucus comes from there as well,
and so different eye-parts are lumped all together.”
The pretty lady ripped out her eye.
With no attachment in her mind at all, she said:
“Come now, take this eye,”
and gave it to the man right then.
And at that moment he lost his lust,
and asked for her forgiveness:
“May you be well, O chaste and holy lady;
such a thing will not happen again.
Attacking a person such as this
is like holding on to a blazing fire,
or grabbing a deadly viper!
May you be well, please forgive me.”
When that nun was released
she went to the presence of the excellent Buddha.
Seeing the one with excellent marks of merit,
her eye became just as it was before.
The Book of the Thirties is finished.